#so this got away from me

[sealrock]

09. lend an ear

no content warnings word count: 940 words

If Hector had spoken up earlier to break the stalemate, he wouldn't be soaked to the skin. He situated himself on a nearby rock, watching as Achille and Melita, both equally soaked, barked insults to each other as the heavens dumped a deluge's worth of rare rain onto the parched Thanalan plains, right on the cusp of winter. Somehow, the trio got lost on their way back from Hector's gleaner assignment, and Hector forgot to take his map with him, a rookie mistake he never thought to make four years into his career. Trying to rely on waymarks was difficult when you have people yelling at each other over your head.

"This is all your fault!"

"How is it my fault!? You're the one who said you knew this area like the back of your hand, you fucking shrew!"

"I do, but I also didn't have to deal with a dishonest kvetch who doesn't know which way is up!"

Achille offered an indignant grunt in response, his red hair sticking to the back of his neck and dripping with rainwater. Melita stood on the opposite side of the road, hands curled to fists and shoulders quivering with rage. Achille, saying only that he was from Ishgard, obviously had no clue where they were going, but he couldn't help but jab at their traveling companion's blunder of taking the wrong path back to camp. To add insult to injury, the trio stumbled into a nest of antlings and had to run for their lives, further straying from the beaten path.

Melita, a self-proclaimed mercenary Hector met in a seedy tavern on the outskirts of Ul'dah, only agreed to come along because Hector not-so-subtly begged her for her aid, ignoring Achille's advice to reconsider. He didn't know the landscape all too well with his assignments keeping him closer to home in the temperate regions of Dravania.

"We could've taken that pack of antlings easy, or are your spindly arms not strong enough to lift that rusty sword of yours?"

Melita let out a frustrated growl at Achille's attempt to rile her up, a petty smirk spreading across his face as she fell for it.

"Oh, sure, I trust you and your little gats could handle even the mightiest of vilekin! Such a shame your aim is hindered by your lopsided vision!"

Hector cringed at that; if it was one thing he learned from traveling with Achille, he learned to never ask about Achille's missing left eye. Melita had only been with them for two moons, but she wasn't doing herself any favors.

Hector could've jumped in to break them up before things turned ugly, but he didn't.

Hector wasn't the assertive type—the word "no" wasn't in his vocabulary. If he had a problem, he would figure it out himself so as not to be a bother, but if other people had problems, he would drop everything to help them. It was in his nature to give, to always lend an ear to those in need, even if it meant he didn't receive the same treatment in kind. Hector was the type of person to be easily taken advantage of, someone who didn't think twice if somebody was trying to stab him in the back before offering the shirt off his back. Achille once remarked that he had no spine, something Hector easily agreed with (he didn't miss Achille's dissatisfied side eye).

Hector knew it made him much like a doormat, someone who rolls over at the first sign of disagreement to try and appease people. He would try his best to be the neutral party in arguments, but he would make it worse by not taking either side. So to be caught between two lovely, but extremely bullheaded, people who couldn't see eye to eye on anything took him out of his comfort zone. Hector seemed to attract people like that; those with prickly, cheerless exteriors latch onto his squishy and malleable personality. The fact this happened twice concerned him a bit.

That is why he's currently stuck in a downpour, his boots soggy and skin goosefleshed, with nothing more to say than a defeated sigh and a stifled sneeze. Achille and Melita paused their verbal assault to watch Hector descend into a sneezing fit; Hector didn't see their guilt-ridden stares from the curtain of his bangs. A sudden weight fell over him and a familiar scent tickled his nose—it was Achille's bulky leather coat. It practically swallowed him as he slipped his arms through the sleeves.

"Wear this, it'll keep you warm, though it might not be much help now."

"But," Hector sniffled, burrowing himself into the coat, "what about you?"

"I'll live."

Hector noticed how Achille's tone wasn't that of anger or derision, it was soft and awkward as the taller man refused to look him in the eye. Exposed in the rain, Achille's scarred, strong arms seemed to not react to the change in temperature, his twin pistols holstered at his hips. With little effort, Achille slung Hector's pack over his shoulder as he led the gleaner to Melita's place under a nearby tree for an ounce of shelter. She rolled her eyes when she and Achille glanced at each other, though Hector could tell she felt a bit ashamed for her behavior.

Hector understood why gleaners traveled alone, so he couldn't help it when he let out a small chuckle, standing between his two bodyguards.

"I'm not a bodyguard."

"I'm not your bodyguard!"

Without thinking, the two of them were in unison with their response. Embarrassed, the two looked in opposite directions with a scoff.

Hector blinked. He didn't mean to say that out loud.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

marcus pike and phone sex… specifically getting you to play with yourself over the phone.

Cristina my love <3

I think this is one of those rare kinks where it's literally just about power.

If there's one thing about Marcus Pike, it's that he knows how to use the tools at his disposal. Knowing you get off on his voice softly telling you what to do? Yeah, he'll take every opportunity to make you weak in the knees over it.

(smut, 18+ under the cut) (ETA THIS GOT LONG IT'S BASICALLY THEIR ENTIRE PHONE SEX SCRIPT LOL SORRY!?!?!?!)

Marcus doesn't strike me as someone who shies away from dirty talk. I think he'd tell you exactly what he wants to do to you in explicit detail.

And if you were, say, a little bit shy about actually saying it out loud? He'd find it endlessly endearing that you'll do the filthiest things with him, but the moment you try to articulate it? You start to giggle and duck your head in embarrassment.

Marcus is such a tease when he wants to be, so he likes getting you all flustered. He likes to murmur in your ear all the things he wants to do to you later when you're at dinner. He'll lean over and whisper, "I can't stop thinking about that pretty throat of yours. When we get home, I want to spread you out on the bed and slide my cock inside as deep as it will go until I can feel it against my hand." He delights in the way you choke on nothing at his words, gasping as though his cock really is down your throat even as you sit next to him in the quiet booth. "I want you to feel it too," he'll whisper. "I want to take your hand and show you just how good you are for me."

So when a case takes him away for a week, he immediately wants to get you hot and bothered over the phone. He starts talking first, softly instructing you, leading you through every step.

"Take off your clothes. Everything. I want to know you're completely naked, spread out on the bed."

"Lay down and close your eyes. I want you to pretend I'm watching you touch yourself."

He tells you to start slowly--to gently trace your lips with one finger, then slide your hand slowly down your throat to play with your nipples.

"Tease them," he says softly. "Touch them until you can't stand it any longer--just like I do for you."

He can hear your soft whimpers as you do what he asks, and it makes him palm his cock with a pained groan. He wants to cum, too, but he wants--needs--to wait until you do, too. He needs more, though--he needs to hear more than just your little gasps and cries. He needs to know exactly what it is he does to you.

"Tell me how it feels," he orders softly.

"G-Good," you stammer.

He tuts playfully. "You can do better than that, sweetheart."

"It's--um, it's overwhelming, and I can feel it--it's like I can feel it in my clit, just touching myself like this."

"One of these days we should try to make you cum from this alone."

"It's--it's better when you do it," you admit quietly.

"You need more, hmm? Pinch them. Make it hurt, just a little. Just a little bit of pain. Don't you always make the sweetest sounds when I'm a little bit rough with you?"

He hears your resulting whine and he knows you've obeyed.

"Good girl. Do it again."

He asks you to do it over and over until you finally break and beg him.

"Please, Marcus, I want to touch myself."

"You are touching yourself."

"Marcus!"

He laughs, enjoying this little game of having this power over you, of getting to choose when you get to touch, when you get to cum.

"Marcus, please, it's too much, I need more."

"You can have more if you tell me exactly what you want."

"I-I want to touch my clit?" You rise up in inflection at the end, so that it comes out like a question.

"More," Marcus whispers back. "More, baby. I need more."

"I want... I want to circle it slowly, just like you do. I want to, um, imagine it's your hand, dipping down through my folds and collecting my--fuck, I'm so wet, there's... there's a lot, Marcus--and spreading it around, making e-everything slick..."

"Good," Marcus praises, his eyes falling shut at the visual. "Good, baby, you're doing so well. Touch yourself for me, do exactly what you're saying."

Your next words are stronger, and he knows his generous praise has emboldened you.

"I want--oh, fuck, I want your fingers inside me while I do this. I've got--I've got mine inside but they can never get d-deep enough. I need you--need your cock."

"Tell you what, I'll let you get your toy if you keep telling me exactly what you're doing."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. The biggest one. Want to reward you for being so good to me while I'm gone."

You both know which toy he's referring to--it's inhumanly long and thick, completely unrealistic in terms of regular human anatomy. He bought it for you because he likes to see you struggle to take it. The first time he used it on you, you could barely take half of it, and the vision of you split open on it always leaves him rock hard.

"I-I've got it," you tell him breathlessly. "I'm gonna, um, get it wet. I-In my mouth."

"Fuck, good girl. F-Fuck--as deep as you can get it, baby. As deep as it will go. Keep the phone close by."

He listens to the little sounds of effort as you try and fit the toy in your mouth and down your throat. He can tell you're really trying--he hears you choke several times, and you're panting and gasping for breath as you come up for air every time.

"How does it feel?" Marcus prompts.

"It--fuck, it hurts my throat and... makes my eyes water, b-but I like that. I like how it feels and I like knowing it's too much for me."

"I know," he murmurs affectionately. "I know, baby. You can slide it in, now. Slowly."

"I--it's filling me inch by inch," you say, your voice slightly strained with effort. "Marcus, I want--I want it to be you who does this."

"Shh, I know. I miss you too, honey."

"I like it when you fuck me with it," you add quietly. "You--you do it better, you always do it better. You--you make me realize I can... take more than I thought I could."

"You can take it," he says softly, encouragingly. "All the way in, all the way to the hilt, baby. I know you can do it."

"It's--almost---" you gasp.

"You gotta keep talking for me, baby, I need to hear it," Marcus reminds you. He finally starts to stroke himself, knowing you're on the other side of the phone, slowly breaking yourself apart on the massive toy.

"I can--it's all--it's in there, and--fuck, feels so full, Marcus. It's--it's so much and I need to cum and oh, God, baby I miss you. I miss you so much and it's never the same without you."

"Make yourself cum and--f-fuck--keep talking," Marcus gasps, moving his hand faster.

"I'm--I'm rubbing my clit," you tell him. "It's--oh god, it's making everything so tight, I'm gonna feel it everywhere when I cum. I want--I'm gonna cum, Marcus, will you--will you cum with me? Will you--I wanna know you're missing me too, I--"

"Fuck, yes, I'm cumming with you," Marcus assures, his voice roughened with pleasure. "So close, baby, please. So close, and I miss you too, baby, I'll be home soon and I'll get to taste that pretty pussy for myself and fuck that perfect little cunt with my fingers before I fuck you open on my cock."

You scream as you cum, so overwhelmed by Marcus's words and the massive toy splitting you open. Marcus follows immediately, spurting over his hand with a hissed curse, staying as quiet as he can so he can hear all those sweet noises you're making.

"Thank you," he whispers. "You did so good for me, baby. I know it's hard for you to say out loud."

"I did," you giggle, sounding giddy and exhilarated.

"I'll be home soon," he promises. "So soon. Will you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Don't clean the toy," he says darkly.

"Marcus!" you laugh, aghast.

"Don't clean it," he repeats. "I've fucking missed the way you taste and I'm going to get my fill when I get back."

[orionis13]

This moment brought to you by ice feast

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[half-dead-ham]

The Justice League found themselves in one of the Watchtower conference rooms, watching with mounting dread as another vortex of swirling Lazarus green spat out even more indescribably creatures into the main streets of Metropolis. This was the third one in as many hours, and Superman was still trying to contain the havoc these creatures were creating without getting caught by one.

Needless to say, it was slow going.

"What about the Dark division?" Hal asked, eyes trained to a monitor showing a flying green old lady hurling cannonball sized mounds of hamburger at anything that moves from a chain superstore.

Batman shakes his head, he'd called everyone he knew but they had no idea how to handle these beings.

Hal sits back in resignation just as Flash speeds into the room.

"Alright I know I'm late, what'd I miss?" He askes no one in particular, voice light despite the situation.

No one answered the question but Diana, who silently motions to the screens, all displaying various levels of a destroyed downtown. A biker literally tearing up the roads, a punk singer on top of the globe of the Daily Bugle, bewitching anyone within earshot. A beast the size of a tank barreling through a park, a castle of boxes growing and incorporating nearby buildings into its mass. All this and Superman was just trying to mitigate damage while avoiding a large robot in a jetpack.

Flash whistles at the displays, wow that was a lot of damage.

"And no one's called Phantom?" He asks, eyeing a monitor showing a large green dog bursting out of a petstore, oversized maw grinding on all the chew toys that would fit.

The heroes at the table looked at each other in confusion, they had never heard of anyone named 'Phantom'.

When Flash got no reply he turned to the table, arms crossed as he looked over the others in his team.

"Really? No one thought about calling the dude that can clean this up? Seriously?"

"Flash," Green Arrow said slowly, "we have no idea who you're talking about."

The mask around Flash's eyes scrunched momentarily, thinking, before a look of clarity passed, complete with a small 'oh'.

"Right, sorry, forget that not everyone knows the guy that has to deal with our stuff," he chuckled sheepishly.

Before anyone could ask about what 'our stuff' meant Barry added, "don't worry I know a way to get him."

And then he was gone in a streak of red out the door, much to everyone's exasperation.

Not even five minutes later Flash was back again, cheesy smirk plastered on his face as he sat down next to Wonder Woman. They all just stared at him for a few seconds, expecting him to explain, to make small talk, something to help the situation.

"Well?" Oliver prompts, curiosity and stress getting to him as he sees another building collapse from the corner of his eye. "Where's your guy?"

Barry just sits there, saying nothing but holding up a finger as if to ask them 'just wait a minute'. Oliver frowns at the reaction but couldn't get a word in before another swirling vortex of green opens in the conference room. Chairs screeched across the floor as every hero leapt to their feet, all except Flash, who just turned in his chair to face the floating circle.

Seconds passed as nothing happened, tension running high in the heroes as they stared at the portal. Then the surface moved.

Slowly, like something out of a horror movie (and very much unlike what was happening in Metropolis) a figure pushed its way through the portal like it was fighting it. A hand tore through the surface, stark white with clawed tips, with the arm and body following, covered in black.

When the figure was out of the portal the heroes hesitated. The thing looked young. No older than sixteen, but with glaring signs to its otherness. The pointed ears, the claws, the way it stayed frozen in the air as though the watchtower's artificial gravity wasn't working, too green eyes washing over the group before him before landing on Barry.

"Baaaarrrrrrrryyyyy," the creature groaned. But, not like a haunting groan? More like an 'I'm so tired of your shit' type of groan.

"You know you shouldn't make whole paradoxes in time just to get me to see you, right?" The creature gripped, slumping their shoulders and making a face at the speedster.

The Flash just shrugged, as though making a paradox in time wasn't incredibly dangerous.

The figure sighed, giving the rest of the -now highly concerned- heroes another once over.

"So what did you want this time? Not everyday you drag me this side of the human realm to see your super buddies."

"Nothing much," Barry replied, "Supes is just having a hard time with some of your people and somehow I was the one who knew the best guy for the job."

The being frowned, looking from the still tense group of heroes to the monitors displaying the destruction of Metropolis.

Seeing as the creature wasn't attacking them, Oliver's curiosity was piqued.

"What did Flash do to make you come here anyway, and what even are you?"

The being, was it Phantom? Phantom kept watching the monitors, waving his hand at the table in dismissal.

"Ghost," he replied simply. "And this time he decided to make a paradox where Frans Ferdinand both got assassinated and was around as world war two began." There was more, but it was a low grumbled mess mixed with hisses and chirps that could very much not be made with human vocal chords.

"Isn't that bad? Like, change the course of history bad?" Hal joins in as he looks at Barry, horrified that he just changed the past so casually. "And also, how the hell do you know his real name‽"

"Uh huh," Phantom half replied, still glued to the monitors. "'Work for big daddy time, 's why you don't remember Ferdinand being around for the war in history. 'S also my job to fix whatever stupid shit the speedsters get up to in time, so I see 'em a lot."

Finally Phantom turns back to the group.

"I know all their names, a few of yours too. Comes with the perks of the job, I guess," they shrug.

With that knowledge bomb safely dropped, Phantom proceeded to pull out- is that a fucking thermos?- from their previously unnoticed messenger bag and points it at Barry.

"You. No paradoxing at least until I fix this mess. You have my number, would it kill you to use it?" They then wave to the rest of the League. "Also, explain to your friends why it's not a good idea to also summing a ghost with time paradoxes? I wanna say I trust them more but the shit I've seen some of you pull sadly makes me think otherwise."

And with that, Phantom flew through the floor, reappearing on one of the displays showing Metropolis not ten minutes later.

"So," Barry turned his chair back around to face the table of gobsmacked heroes with a cheshire grin. "That was Phantom."

Oliver looked like he wanted to scream, Hall like he was ready to throw hands. Batman had that look on his cowl like he had an investigation itch to scratch and wanted to race to the nearest computer to itch it. Diana stared blankly at where the ghosts had been not minutes before, in silent contemplation.

Barry leaned his chair back as he watched it play out, so glad he got to spread a little chaos just this once. The kid was the best prank teacher a speedster could ask for, he'd be getting extra pineapple on his pizza when he saw the kid next Tuesday.

"I suppose it's fitting," Diana broke the silence with her comment. "That one's so familiar with traversing through time would know my grandfather's ward."

"WHAT?" Barry shouted, turning to the Amazonian.

From there the conference room devolved into chaos, with Barry, Hal and Oliver getting into an argument about the speedsters supposed stances on the supernatural, Batman reaching the nearest monitor and trying desperately to pull up everything he could on Phantom.

Superman entered to this scene, out of breath and confused. Diana just looked over and gave him a tired smile as a greeting.

dc x dp prompt: instead of constantine or batman or billy being the one who knows about Ghost Stuff, it's the speedsters, because clockwork is the one who has to deal with all the Time Paperwork their nonsense creates and danny keeps getting sent in about it.

(I had more but honestly I think it's more fun to see the very different directions people go with less specific prompts :) )

!!! Oh this is so sick!!! Maybe the GZ works in parallel with the speedforce? Something of the sort? Either way this is such a neat idea :)

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[sableeira]

And Dazai is like: omg how did he figure it out?!?!?!?

[violent138]

On a very stupid note, can you imagine how embarrassing it is for Bruce Wayne, the most paranoid and secretive man on earth, that whenever there's drama in his family it inevitably reaches a significant portion of the superhero community?

And he can't even go after any one person, because Alfred would tell Dick (who tells Wally and Donna, especially if it was really stupid), Steph would tell Kara (who would tell Clark, who would tell Diana, who already knew via Donna), and Tim would tell Kon, Damian would tell Jon and Connor, Duke tells Jason about it, and because Wally told Barry Hal now knows (and other Lanterns), J'onn knew because Bruce was fuming and Clark was trying to figure out how to bring it up, Cass told Dinah and Barbara so now the entirety of the Arrowfam and Birds of Prey know too and so on.

[xitsensunmoon]

My first ever comic con! And first cosplay too. Of course it's gonna be my boy :] Ramblings about the process are under the cut(Let me know if?? You would want me to elaborate with process images for any of the steps?)

The costume took me forever to make, as I've never done any machine sewing, sculpting, fabric dying or spray painting before but learning all of these was so fucking fun!! I never realised just how many different skills go into making a cosplay but it was so worth it!!!

Almost all of the clothes(except the hat) were purchased first as bases, but all of the detailing was added by me. All of the fabric used was originally just scraps that I was given for free so I needed to learn how to dye and dye all of the stars, they were originally white.

The sewing machine was its own beast that brought me tons of frustration from the lack of skill and knowledge (it was devastating to find out that 95% of fuck ups were my fault and not the machine's lmao). But as a result, a hat sewn from scratch, all of the fur trims, embroidery on the corset, stars and the collar(which is very hard to see on the pictures unfortunately) was all added manually. The stars and the stripes(on the back of the cape) were attached using heat-and-bond adhesive (I WISH I knew about such thing just when I started working on this. It would save me so much time and nerves.)

Then I found out about polymorph(mouldable plastic) and it has become the next thing I wanted to learn, to sculpt the claws and the fangs(yes, they're handmade jfksjs). The claws I then primed and painted in trillion coats because I wasn't satisfied with the colour of the spray paint. The fangs I moulded to my own teeth and then stained with tea to match the colour of my teeth :)c

As for makeup, I used Mehron Paradise water activated paints. At first I wanted to try to save money and bought myself Snazaroo instead, which unfortunately turned out to be a waste. Snazaroo didn't hold on my face for longer than 2 hours, cracking and peeling awfully. Mehron on the other hand survived 11 hours of me smiling, talking, emoting and such and didn't even crease at the smile lines(I'm actually shocked about that). It obviously works like any other makeup which means your skin texture and wrinkles won't go anywhere but Mehron's elasticity pleasantly surprised me. It did obviously smear from sweat and saliva(if you're eating and licking your lips) but if you don't touch the skin it just dries again, self setting. But if it's dry it's fully smear-proof. Highly recommend!

And last but not least, I've decided against painting my hands as it was very risky that I will stain everything I touch at the smallest hint of sweat. So instead I got myself gloves-tights(? Not sure how they're called but it's made from the same fabric as tights) and painted them with normal acrylic paint(did you know you could dye fabric with acrylic paint? I personally didn't), then heat set with an iron and voilà, they're reusable, my hands are not stained after an exhausting day and I don't stain everything I touch. It worked wonderfully which honestly was a surprise as I was really sceptical that acrylic paint will somehow stay in place.

I think this whole thing took me minimum of 6 months with big-big breaks for my school and life in general. But I'm really proud! This project taught me so many new skills and I couldn't have been happier about learning new knowledge, even if it sucked to fail in the meantime.

Everyone at the con was really nice and gave me a large confidence boost even tho it was my first time and I had no idea what I was doing. Taking photos with other people was really awkward/new for me as I hate cameras so I really had no idea how to pose/behave in front of one. But that's okay I think. This whole experience definitely made me want to do this again, so I think that will come with experience. Thank you for reading this far, hope you enjoyed this little summary :)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heh...Literally nothing personal, kid.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[lousysharkbutt]

norman reedus sitting like that dot jpeg

[cowardlykrow]

“Not my circus, not my monkeys”… Except those are his monkeys and they are the circus

[hinamie]

yeah sorry theyre tragic in this au too

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[theloveinc]

mating press is so objectively ugly ... embarrassing

[iizuumi]

Side effects of wearing your sentient Kaiju suit too often ,,,,

[sonseulsoleil]

Ghosts don't sleep. They don't even really get tired. At least, not tired in the way sleep would fix. When Charles first dies, he attempts to sleep, but he never can manage it. No matter how many nights he tries. Eventually he gives up.

But he never gives up asking Edwin to read to him at night. Edwin's voice as he reads is warm and steady. Comforting, even. Charles may be dead at sixteen, but he isn't alone. He thinks his best chance at falling asleep is if Edwin is there to read him a bedtime story.

It's probably silly. But Edwin doesn't seem to mind.

Edwin reads him mostly detective stories at first. Sherlock Holmes, anything by Agatha Christie, Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys, of course—which is where they get the idea for the agency in the first place. But Edwin loves books of all sorts, so it isn't long before he's branching out into other genres.

Usually it's old books. Books from before Edwin was even alive. Books Charles would've avoid reading in school. Pride and Prejudice. Frankenstein. Jane Eyre. Oliver Twist. Somehow hearing them in Edwin's voice makes them much more tolerable.

And some are fun. Treasure Island is one Charles finds himself requesting over and over again. He always liked pirates. Lord of the Rings is another favorite, although maybe Charles is just excited that Edwin finally found a book that was published after he died.

Niko introduces Edwin to much newer literature. Teen romance novels with bright covers and cutesy, wordplay titles. Edwin even reads some of the books about boys kissing boys. An adorable, pink blush creeps across his cheeks every time still, but he's getting more comfortable.

Ghosts don't sleep, or even get tired. But Charles thinks he almost gets drowsy sometimes, late at night, when their living friends are sleeping, and he is curled safely and comfortably into Edwin, listening to him read.